


how i pray

by aquaexplicit



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Catholic Guilt, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Harry Is Melodramatic And Not Very Straight, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reverence, Safe Sane and Consensual, season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-08 20:52:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14702076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquaexplicit/pseuds/aquaexplicit
Summary: Harry blindfolds Cisco to help hone his powers.





	how i pray

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Terrie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terrie/gifts).



> based on [this blessed post](http://jlsdrawings.tumblr.com/post/173997962514/harry-getting-the-idea-to-blindfold-cisco-for%22) with an idea from terrie and incredible outstanding wonderful beautiful perfect divine art from jarlinda !!!

Cisco stops mid Star Wars reference when Harry presents the thick strap of black fabric. It's nothing fancy, cut from Harry's most worn soft sweater, but it should be enough to keep Cisco's bright eyes in the dark for training purposes. Harry watches him, expecting those clever fingers to snatch the fabric and examine it. All Cisco does is swallow.

Hard.

It's a new reflex for Harry to ignore the shudder, to breathe through the gut punch loss of air that comes from standing too close to Cisco's sunlight. Harry is practicing penance. Atoning for his violence, his betrayals, his hubris that hollowed him stupid and cruel.

He and Cisco in the speed lab, honing vibe powers and laughing over inside insults, the two of them alone together, is his most selfish penance. Earning Cisco's trust and easy smiles back is a nail his palms spread happily to take.

But it's still punishment. Letting all of his lust and love slide suffocating over Cisco isn't repentance. He's supposed to be helping.

“You said you wanted to be Luke Skywalker,” Harry reminds him. “He trained blindfolded.”

"He trained with a helmet, you heathen." Cisco licks his lips. “You're not gonna cut my hand off too, are you?”

“If you think it would help.”

It's not funny. Harry thought Cisco would find it funny. Instead Cisco looks more nervous. Beads of salt sweat line the Cupid bow of his lip. Harry's tongue sizzles dry in his mouth.

“We don’t have to.” Harry takes the fabric back, tucking it in his pocket. Stupid. Of course Cisco doesn't trust him to train blind. Harry hasn't proven himself nearly enough for this. “Forget it.”

As he turns, he sees Cisco move out of the corner of his eye. It still thrills his nerves into action when Cisco touches him.

“Harry.”

“It was a dumb idea,” Harry says. His fingers cramp with adrenaline. He wants to jam them in the wall or curl them around a marker to throw. He wants the satisfaction of something bending to him.

Cisco, as always, gives Harry what he needs.

“It's not dumb. It's a good idea. Great, actually. I should be in tune with my vibes enough to sense danger.”

Then Cisco’s hand falls from Harry's shoulder. The world spins without Cisco as his anchor. He works the fabric out of his pocket to ignore the tilt. Cisco exhales, shakey.

“I could just close my eyes.”

There's an eggshell crack in Cisco's voice. Harry sighs.

“Your instinct is going to be to look, Ramon.”

Cisco closes his eyes. It's a brief reprieve into what looks like pain beneath the surface. When Cisco opens his eyes again, none of the hesitation has left him.

He still says, “Okay.”

“Atta boy,” Harry encourages, circling behind him.

He doesn't miss the ocean bob of Cisco's Adam's apple. It doesn't matter. He's not letting his mind sin slip into thinking of how the shudder would feel under his tongue.

Cisco's shoulders tense steel like when Harry steps closer. Harry's heart flinches.

“You trust me to do this, right?”

“Yeah,” Cisco answers quickly. He softens. “Yeah, of course.”

Cisco releases another shattering breath as Harry wraps the fabric around his head. Harry’s fingertips buzz, electrocuted with every touch. He narrows his eyes on the black knot he ties against Cisco's black hair. Thinks that maybe he should've gotten silk instead of cotton, something cool to press to Cisco's eyes.

When the makeshift blindfold is secure, Harry's hands drift to Cisco's shoulders. His fingers curl to give Cisco what's meant as a reassuring squeeze. Cisco inhales, sharp enough to cut him.

“Ramon,” he starts, panic spiking him through the gut.

“I'm fine. This is just new, but I'm fine. Totally normal and not weird because this is totally normal training for someone with my powers."

Harry's not sure how to respond, so he grips Cisco's shoulders again.

“Stay here,” Harry says, dipping his head closer to Cisco's ear. It's an automatic cruelty, slinking within tasting distance only to deny himself.

Cisco breathes off balance again. Harry pulls himself away, raw. He's supposed to be making Cisco more comfortable. He's supposed to prove he's a safe space, a good one.

“I'm going behind the desk. I'll control the nanobots from there. Now they're charged with a little shock. It won't hurt you. Just let you know you missed.”

“You really did make it Star Wars.”

There's a smile blooming soft on Cisco's mouth. It gentles every molecule of tension. Harry rocks back on his feet, relieved, pleased.

“Of course I did. Now, reach out for the force.”

-

They develop a routine.

Twice a week they meet in the speedlab. Cisco brings bottled water and beer they don't touch until after the session. Harry brings the nano fighters and the fabric.

Cisco always turns around when its time for Harry to wrap his eyes blind. He always holds his breath while Harry does it. Harry always tries to smooth Cisco's shudders with gentle palms.

Harry almost asks. If Cisco is so anxious on the edge, why does Cisco let Harry put him there?

He never does. After a few rib splintering breaths, Cisco seems to sink into calm. He moves without shaking. Trusts his instincts, embraces his power, flows free in ways Harry's rarely seen him on the field.

When training is done for the day, Harry unknots the night and gives Cisco his sight back.

It always takes a while for Cisco to look at him again. But Cisco does. He always does.

-

"It helps me let go," Cisco says one day as Harry is listing again the benefits of sightless training. He's standing behind the console. Cisco is catching his breath, flustered and panting. The fabric is still wrapped around Cisco's eyes as he speaks. "Something about not seeing how people look at me. I don't know."

Harry frowns. He hadn't considered the technique would impact Cisco's insecurities. The little bites he still carries regarding his powers.

"But it's also helping heighten your vibes, right?"

"It's heightening my senses. Definitely."

"Any in particular?" Harry reaches for his tablet to record the answer. When Cisco doesn't offer one, Harry looks up, only to see him shifting on his feet. "Ramon? What other senses?"

"I can feel. More, I guess. Like when you put the fabric on me, I can feel your body heat. I'm more aware of it. You run hotter than people on Earth 1."

The admission yanks at Harry's tendons. He's tried not to think of how it feels to tie the fabric around Cisco's eyes, how the scent of Cisco's shampoo and detergent makes Harry ache for permanence. 

"What else?" Harry asks. His voice barely falters.

Cisco's fists clench at his sides. "Can we actually take a rain check on the rest of training today? I forgot I have a thing with my parents."

Harry wants to say no, but he's embracing softness now. He undoes the knot instead.

It's the only time they discuss it. Cisco is skittish of giving it words. Harry tries to understand. 

-

In several ways, the training helps.

Cisco takes to it, quick and magnificent. By the end of the third week he's barely taking any zaps from what he affectionately refers to as Harry's nano bastards. The benefits of training unfold on the field when an electro meta tries and fails to get the jump on him.

In other ways, the training is absolutely the worst idea Harry's ever had. Barely below pumping dark matter into his brain.

Harry allocated for variables. What he failed to take into account was the depths of his weakness. He didn't consider the beatific obscenity of his black fabric contrasting against Cisco's cinnamon skin. He didn't factor in Cisco following his every direction with only a few high pitched whining words or how Cisco's acquiescence would wreck him stupid all over again.

Blood lusting for Cisco under the guise of training is a multiverse away from the path Harry's shredded soles have been attempting to walk. Guilt gnaws at his joints each time he fastens the fabric around Cisco's eyes, each time his hungry fingers brush hair and tender neck skin and he pretends it's an accident. Sickness thrives in every moment he watches Cisco do as he's told.

Harry hesitates to stop, at first. He convinces himself that the temptation can be a battle and victory can serve as unwavering proof that he's repented his way back into Cisco's grace. He suffers the loathing and the longing, but it's for Cisco. Any pain is worth it if he can prove himself. Atone.

-

The day Harry realizes he's placed too much faith in himself is the day Cisco says, idly, “The blindfold kinda smells like you.”

Several things freeze Harry in place. Cisco is leaning against the wall, watching him with eyes smoothed by exhaustion, waiting for him to begin their training. The open line of Cisco's body and the easy slip of his words slow Harry in his tracks.

“It's not a blindfold.” Harry can feel heat scratch along his neck at the words, but he needs Cisco to know. The training is innocent. The motivation and the instrument. Not the instructor, of course, but Harry's trying. “It's my old favorite sweater.”

Cisco's fingers scramble against the wall. He looks half ready to fall. Harry hurries to him, hands outstretched to catch him, panic on full display.

“Cisco? What's wrong? Did you - ”

“I'm fine,” Cisco says, clearly not. The familiar adrenaline flush of training kisses Cisco's cheeks. “Fine. Just a little, surprised, I guess. Didn't expect you to cut up your favorite sweater for this.”

Harry's palm slides against the back of his neck. Cisco's breathing faster, chest fluttering. Nerves. Harry is making him nervous.

Grasping at anything, Harry says, “I felt like. It was the softest thing I had. And you like soft things. So I just thought. I was trying to be thoughtful.”

“That's good, Harry. Thank you. I appreciate it.”

But Cisco looks sick. His cheeks are burning and his fingers are twitching and he's looking at the fabric as if it will slither to life and swallow him whole.

“It really was my favorite, Ramon,” Harry insists, scraping for anything that may ease Cisco's sudden panic. “So I thought you should have it. I felt you, as my favorite, should - ”

“I'm your favorite?”

Harry's synapses stop firing. When they flint spark back together, he realizes Cisco has stopped fidgeting. The earnest curiosity that fits his face so beautifully ripples over the anxiety.

“Yes,” Harry says, honest and desperate to keep Cisco in this calm. “I mean, Jesse is my favorite favorite, of course “

“Of course,” Cisco echoes easily.

Harry twists his fingers in the fabric. He refuses to let his gaze drop. “Then there’s you.”

Cisco doesn't respond with words. He smiles, brilliant, traces of raw nerves still visible, but before Harry can attempt reassurance again, Cisco is turning around. He leans his head back, just a breath, enough for curls to waterfall over his shoulder blades and for Harry's chest to ache.

Harry takes the cue with a knife edge breath. He doesn't think of the heat radiating from Cisco's back or the graceful line of Cisco's neck or how bone breakingly lush Cisco looks in this pose. He doesn't. He doesn't.

“Harry.” Cisco looks over his shoulder just as Harry raises the fabric. A shadow darkens Cisco's eyes but it's gone in a moment. He licks his lip before saying, “You're my favorite too.”

It takes Harry four times to knot the fabric in place.

-

When Harry was 13, he sat his mothers down and told them he would no longer be attending Sunday mass.

He was nearly certain they didn't believe the things oozing from the pulpit. They attended because their colleagues attended. Because their grandparents came to America from rolling Irish hills for a better life and apparently condemned any future family to sullen pews.

They fussed. They were always fussing. Harry was resolute. He believed in sin - in waste, in ignorance, in ugliness that sunk the world deeper. He didn't believe he'd committed any natural crimes, though, and refused to drink the wine.

Harry thought he was above the patrons who continued to go and believe in some way. Thought he was intellectually superior for saving himself from undeserved punishment. He watched them suffer and burn the fat from their own happiness to atone for demons living only in their heads.

It occurs to Harry, over weeks of training, of voicing over Cisco's actions and pinching at the thrills in his thigh when Cisco obeys, when he can see Cisco looking through the smoke and straight to his voice, when Cisco pants breathless and flushed, that Harry is no better than those huddled masses.

He's been just as stupid all along.

-

There's nothing significant about the day Harry begins his tilt from self flagellation to worship. Cisco is turning from him, fingers twitching in what Harry has puzzled out as excitement. Harry forces himself to breathe. Slow. In and out.

“Turn back around.”

Cisco does. His eyes roll and his lips pucker, pouting, but he does as Harry asks.

“Here.” Harry holds the blindfold out.

Cisco frowns at it. “There,” he says, making a vague gesture with his hands.

Harry grinds his teeth. “Put it on.”

“What?” Where Harry expected confusion, perhaps mild panic, he sees ache. Loss and that soft slide of heartbreak when Cisco's disappointed. “Why? Aren't you - you usually put it on me.”

“Do you want me to put it on you?”

“Did I do something wrong?”

A quiet desperation warbles Cisco's voice. Harry takes the blade of it. All of his awe, all of his want, tries to climb from his skin underneath Cisco's own. Any doubt is gone. Harry can read it in the wet of Cisco's eyes and the ache twisting his lips.

Cisco wants this.

“If I did something - "

“No,” Harry assures him quickly, taking a step forward, in disbelief of his own stupidity. How long has he been so blind? “You've been great, Ramon. Perfect. I just thought you might not want me to put a blindfold on you anymore.”

Cisco looks away. Harry reads the shame for what it is. He wants to overtake it, replace it only with the shining pleasure bright Cisco deserves to bask in.

Before he can speak, Cisco's voice reaches him. Angelic in power, in how much terror and awe it lights in Harry inside out.

“I do want you to.”

Harry can't quite fumble any response. It's achingly close to the mush mouth his pride cost him, but the idiocy he feels is a different kind of clumsy. He was familiar with it a lifetime ago, with Tess at his side and Jesse on his knee. He's missed it.

For the first time, Harry ties the blindfold around Cisco while they breathe face to face. Harry doesn't make any apologies for the slips of his fingers. Cisco doesn't try to even his breath.

Once the fabric is tied, Harry allows his palm to rest on Cisco's cheek. Cisco all but nuzzles into the touch.

“Time for work, Skywalker.”

He can tell by Cisco's smile that Cisco doesn't miss the shudder in his voice.

-

DA Cecile Horton helps Harry move his furniture. She directs he and Joe as they clear his sparse living room of anything but a couch.

“You should get some art in here,” Cecile suggests.

“Earth 2 tech doesn't get much cash at your pawn shops. This is the best I can afford.”

“It's a good bachelor pad,” Joe tells him, grunting as they finally push the coffee table to the foot of Harry's bed. “Is there a reason we're doing this?”

Harry stretches his shoulders. “Ramon and I are gonna do some training. I don't want him to trip on anything.”

“Training,” Joe repeats. He opens his mouth, then closes it. “Iris told me a little about your training. More than I needed to know.”

They don't ask him anymore questions. Cecile does tell him, as they both hug him to leave, to remember that Cisco cares about him. To be careful with both of their hearts.

Harry promises he will.

-

Cisco doesn't ask _why_ when Harry tells him they'll be training at his apartment today and that Cisco should wear something loose. Instead he breaches into Harry's living room, soft in grey sweats and a worn scoop neck t-shirt wide enough to show the wings of his collar bones.

“You did some redecorating. The house is bitchin’.”

It makes Harry smile, but he can't smile. The moment is too important. Anticipation tightens his stomach like a coil, steel tight and snake hungry. His toes curl and uncurl on the carpet as he stands in front of Cisco. The blindfold in his pocket.

“Do you trust me, Cisco?”

The question obviously startles Cisco. He blinks. “Of course I do.”

“I mean.” Harry takes a breath, a step. Cisco watches him with no shudder of hesitation. “Do you really trust me? Trust that I don't want to hurt you?”

Ache flutters on Cisco's face. Not his own, but for Harry, and Harry can't imagine anything as forgiving. As bright with love.

“I haven't forgotten your mistakes, Harry. But that's what they were. They don't define you.” Cisco hesitates before resting his palm over Harry's heart. Harry knows he must feel it trying to cut its it's way closer. Softly, Cisco adds, “This is what makes you.”

Harry closes his eyes. Now comes the confession. “Do you trust that I love you?”

Cisco's fingers scrape against his chest, curling into his shirt. Harry looks to find Cisco’s eyes still underneath his lids.

“Yes,” Cisco whispers.

“Good,” Harry says back, mouth dry. “Open your eyes.”

Cisco blinks quickly enough to give them both whiplash. Harry doesn't falter. Keeps their gazes locked and loaded and moves slowly enough that Cisco could open a breach and jump between three Earths before their lips touch. Cisco doesn't run. Instead he tilts his head to take the kiss, eyes wide open.

It's gentle. Dry and sky soft and so gentle Harry doesn't feel quite right having it. He takes it anyway.

He doesn't know how long they stay like that. Eventually his lips tingle and he slips away, just to breathe.

“Harry.” Cisco's forehead brushes his chin. “You have no idea. I was driving myself crazy. I felt so fucked up. You were trying to help me, and I couldn't stop perving on you. I must've said a thousand hail Mary's.”

Harry cradles his jaw. “Don't worry about that,” Harry tells him, hoping Cisco will bow to his voice in this the same way Cisco bows to it during training. “Just kiss me, okay? Just open your mouth and kiss me back.”

Harry doesn't know if Cisco lets go of his nerves, but he follows the rest of Harry's instructions lovely and eager. He kisses Harry slick mouthed, open, giving Harry little breathy noises to glut himself on. They clutch at each other.

The next time they break apart to breathe, Harry fishes the blindfold from his pocket. Cisco bites his lip when he sees it, knees knocking against Harry's own, nails sinking into Harry's arms.

“Do you want me to put it on you?”

“Yes," Cisco says, swaying forward, pressing warm kisses to Harry's jaw. “Fuck, yes. You have no idea what it does to me.”

Harry kisses him again, has to. Kisses him after the blindfold is tied, too, because he has to. When he steps away, Cisco's lips chase him.

Harry cups his cheek, pressing one thumb to his bottom lip, watching the flesh dip.

“I'm going to sit on the couch. I want you to come to me. All you have to do is listen to my voice. Just follow my direction. Okay?” Cisco nods, already lust drunk, and Harry can't fault him. Harry feels just as sloppy with it. “I need to hear you say it, Cisco.”

“Okay,” Cisco breathes.

Walking away from Cisco, needy and flushed, outline of his want already visible against his soft pants, is a pain that leaves Harry hot and rubbed raw. He forces himself to sit on the couch and not throw Cisco over the back of it. It's an effort.

“I want you to take your shirt off,” Harry tells him, calm as he can be as his body trembles.

Cisco mirrors the shudder. When he slides the shirt off, dropping it to the floor, Harry sees it ripple in Cisco's belly. The visceral echo of desperation eases something in Harry, but not much. He feels thin boned, held together by fear and faith.

“Harry.” Cisco says, impatient and needy and perfect.

“Put your hands at your side. Relax. Breathe.” Harry grips his knees with his own fingers as he watches Cisco's still at the waistband of his sweats. Trying to follow his own advice, Harry takes a greedy gulp of air and anchors himself back into place. “Good. Now come here, Cisco. Just put one foot in front of the other.”

Harry watches Cisco take one small but sure step forward. He should've told Cisco to take his shoes off, but they're both too far gone now. Next time. Because there will be a next time. Harry won't go without this anymore.

Each step makes Harry harder. The worn fabric of his sweats are already pulled tight across his lap, but the closer Cisco comes, the more desperate Harry throbs. Not just his dick, aching wet against his pants, but every buzzing atom. He's shaking, all autumn leaves, even more than Cisco. And Cisco is an absolute mess.

“That's it. You're halfway to me. That's my boy.”

Cisco nearly trips on his words. Harry digs his fingers in his thighs. He wants to touch himself as he watches Cisco stumble forward, fumble blindfolded and beautiful, then he wants to paint the black fabric and Cisco's flickering skin with come. But Harry waits. That's not enough, and Cisco has been so patient with him. Cisco should have everything.

“Stop,” he says, aiming for gentle and spearing instead into sandpaper rough. He can't help it.

Cisco does stop, though, without complaint, but Harry can read the frustration in the press of his lips. Like he's one denial from breaking into sobs or desperation.

“If it's too difficult to keep walking forward - ” Harry's cheeks heat. The command feels heavy and dumb on his tongue, but he forces himself to say it. He's been watching the way Cisco shudders around him. Cisco will want this. “You can get on your hands and knees.”

Cisco claws at his sweats, bunching fabric between bloodless fingers. The flimsy grey material doesn't hide the way Cisco's cock twitches, needy. Harry slides his fingers under his thighs to keep from grinding against his own palm.

“Fuck. Harry. Are you serious?”

Harry nods, no words left, until he realizes Cisco can't see him. It's all he can do to rasp, “Yes.”

Cisco takes a moment, and it's long enough for Harry to watch a damp patch form on Cisco's sweats. Harry wants to lick it even wetter.

There's little grace in Cisco's movements, but grace isn't what either of them are going for. It's animal, and electric, and Harry feels claws coming from underneath his skin to scratch at Cisco.

Cisco doesn't have to crawl for long. He was already close, and he actually moves faster like this. Harry watches his muscles glide.

“You're almost here,” Harry encourages. “Just a little more, and I'll be all yours.”

Cisco lowers his head, hair falling as quiet and consuming as night. Harry's fingers twitch to pull it. His eyes narrow on the blindfold knot and it helps him draw his focus from his own hunger.

As Cisco crawls closer, one of Harry's hands slips from his leg, stretching out. His fingers find Cisco's chin when Cisco slides close enough to touch.

Cisco makes one of the saddest, sweetest sounds Harry has ever heard when skin brushes skin. It's all he can do not to kick Cisco on his back and kiss it louder.

Harry gives Cisco's dimple a pinch before tilting his head up. Even without seeing Cisco's eyes, Harry can sense how eager he is. How ready. How much he needs it.

“You did great, Cisco.”

Cisco tilts into Harry's hand, cheek to palm, and keeps turning until he can press a reverent kiss to Harry's hammer pulse. Harry bites his cheek to counter the softness.

“Here,” Harry says, finally freeing his other hand to hold Cisco in a loose grip by the jaw.

He traces Cisco's generous mouth with his thumb, pushing at the lower lip, rough then rougher at Cisco's staccato moan. Cisco lets Harry's flesh push between his teeth. Harry weighs Cisco's tongue, holds it under his calluses and ruthless need, and Cisco fights to take more.

But if Cisco does, then Harry won't be able to. Harry pinches Cisco's cheek from inside out, feeling the warm wet and the warm soft, and curls his fingers into midnight mass black hair. He holds Cisco still. Calms every brilliant, panting part of him.

Harry curves his spine to press kisses along the blindfold. Cisco chokes on a whimper and Harry kisses the side of his mouth.

“I want you to show me,” Harry breathes, wishing he could see the sweep of Cisco's eyelashes but too thankful for the clean headspace the blindfold gives Cisco to remove it. “Show me how good you're gonna suck me off.”

Cisco can barely nod in his grip but he tries anyway. Makes a wet aching moan around Harry's thumb. His tongue moves flat and warm against Harry's knuckle. It's soft and covetous and Harry's not going to last against all the gentleness.

He tugs Cisco's hair while sliding his thumb between Cisco's teeth. Cisco tongues him with sloppy sweet enthusiasm. Harry's other hand pets from his locks up his face to the blindfold. He runs his fingertips along the edges of it, over fabric wrapped skin, and feels Cisco's eyelids fluttering under his touch.

  
Harry kisses Cisco's temple before leaning back. He allows himself a moment to admire the vision before clumsily pulling at his pants. It's difficult to push them to his knees with one hand and two old legs that are shaking apart, but he manages. He hisses when apartment air hits him. Cisco slows. His head tilts up and Harry can hear him, can see the panic in his gaze, read the _did I do something wrong_ in his sudden stillness.

“Want you to taste me now,” Harry explains, wrapping Cisco's hair around his fingers again. Cisco scrambles closer. “Want you to use your tongue first. Feel how hard I am for you.”

Cisco groans but lets his mouth slack soft, lets his tongue lull. Harry guides it to the slippery head of his cock. He watches, enraptured, as Cisco's pretty pink tongue gathers the pre-come from his slit. Harry's eyes roll right through his skull.

Cisco matches him desperate for desperate. Moans just as loud, exhales just as shaky. Harry fights to keep his neck from snapping back, grasping for words to keep him upright.

“You like that, Cisco? Like tasting how wet I got for you?”

He uses his grip on Cisco's hair to hold him back and still. Cisco strains against it.

“Please, Harry, come on.” Cisco's voice is as much a mess as his mouth, shining slick under the light. His fingers scrape for purchase on Harry's bare knees. “Fuck me. Fuck my mouth. Come on. I'll make it so good.”

“I know. I know you will.”

Harry guides Cisco to his knees because neither of them can wait any longer. They kiss. Cisco leans into it almost instinctively, tilting up and to the side so Harry can lick into his mouth.

Harry waits until Cisco slides away for air, then eases Cisco's mouth back to his cock. Cisco takes it with a moan. He sounds relieved. Harry would too if any sound could leave his mouth. All he can do is grunt and push Cisco to take as much as possible.

He presses Cisco down, urging him to take more, until he feels Cisco hesitate. Cisco can't quite manage to swallow him all the way down, even as he tries and tries. Harry is sure Cisco's eyes are wet, eyelashes clumped together under the blindfold. He wants to see it. But he doesn't want to disturb the peace Cisco finds in the darkness, the thing that lets him let go and take what he wants just because he wants it.

He continues guiding Cisco's mouth up and down by the grip in Cisco's hair. Cisco keeps up, giving it back, working his tongue and hollowing his cheeks and groaning. Spit slick coats his mouth and soaks Harry's cock. It's one of the wettest, messiest blow jobs Harry's ever had. He doesn't know that he'll survive it.

In his head, he's moving Cisco sensuous. Slow. Urging him to give Harry all of that sweet mouthed pleasure. It's not until the electric shock of orgasm starts buzzing in his spine that he realizes he's giving Cisco exactly what he asked for - fucking his mouth with little sense of logic or control. Harry's reckless for it. Desperate. Reverent.

One of Cisco's palms slips against his thigh. Then the other slips between them, fingers slicking through spit before Cisco trails the wet tips along Harry's balls.

Harry's head falls back. He can't help it. His throat works around Cisco's name and he pulls Cisco as far down on his cock as Cisco can stand and holds Cisco there. He pumps his hips up through the finish that rips through him.

Cisco keeps tonguing him, rubbing him, until Harry's over sensitive enough it hurts. Harry coaxes Cisco up, back, just enough to pearl the last drops of come over Cisco's lips before sucking them clean.

“Come here,” Harry rasps, punch drunk on Cisco's mouth.

He gets his hands under Cisco's armpits to help push Cisco to his feet. It puts Harry nearly eye level with the damp bulge between Cisco's shaking legs. Harry doesn't fight the temptation to mouth over it.

Cisco says his name, prayer like, and yanks on Harry's hair hard enough tears spring. Harry doesn't care. He gets his fingers under Cisco's sweatpants and pulls until Cisco is bare from hip bone to calf.

At this point, Harry isn't interested in mercy. He wants to make Cisco believe, make Cisco feel and lose control and admit what he needs. Take it. Beg for it.

“Do you want my mouth, Cisco? My hands? Do you want to sit in my lap and fuck my fist?’

“Yes. Jesus, Harry, yes.”

Harry helps navigate until Cisco collapses on top of him, legs spreading wide to straddle his hips. Cisco's dick is dark and dripping and vulnerable between them. On complete display and all for Harry.

He fishes a tube of slick from between the couch cushions while he uses his other hand to pull Cisco into a dirty deep kiss. Their tongues slide messy together. Harry bites Cisco's lip then pops the tab, maneuvering so he can drizzle lube over Cisco's blood full cock.

Cisco makes a distressed little noise but squirms closer to Harry. “Cold,” he hisses, hips rocking.

Harry thinks of how Cisco once described the heightened senses the blindfold provided him. Cisco's eyes had glazed over. Harry had thought it was humility.

He should've warmed the bottle. But the way Cisco keeps rocking, seeking out any friction, arms wrapped around Harry's neck for balance, makes Harry think it's not too much of a deal breaker. Cisco moves sweat slick and increible, ass pressing against Harry's thigh, throbbing cock sliding against Harry's new favorite sweater.

Harry watches Cisco ache and arch. He keeps pouring lube, watching it catch the insides of Cisco's thighs, watching it roll thick over Cisco's balls. The mirror shine is enough to distract Harry until Cisco curses at him.

Offering a kiss in apology, Harry drops the slick and curls his fingers around Cisco.

“Oh, Harry, that - yeah.”

“Shh,” Harry tells him, jerking him off with tight, steady strokes. “Just feel.”

Cisco whimper whines, burying his face in the crook of Harry's neck. The blindfold fabric scratches at his throat as Cisco presses close. He surges into Harry's grip and Harry rewards him by pressing his now dry fingers into Cisco's mouth. Cisco swallows them, eager.

“That's good. Keep moving. Show me what you want. Gonna give you everything. Anything.”

Cisco starts moving faster. He's fumbling blind, just trying to come, just shaking and aching to get off. Harry watches his thigh muscles tighten, watches the way his mouth stretches to drool around Harry's fingers. He's entranced by the glide of Cisco's dick in his fist. The contrast of their skin and the impossible warmth of thick wet.

Harry tries to commit as much as he can to memory. The way Cisco's mouth gives like honey under his touch, the sounds of Cisco's grunts and groans and the slide of slick skin, the taste of Cisco's mouth still filling his own. He works his hand in time with Cisco's hips.

Cisco makes some kind of warning sound around his fingers. Harry can see the tight pulled skin of Cisco's balls and knows exactly what that whine means. He rubs his thumb over the head of Cisco's dick, spreading lube and pre-come. When he thins his nail over Cisco's slit, Cisco bites down on his fingers and come soaks both of them.

String cut, Cisco sags against Harry's chest. Harry lets him pant. He wipes his hands on the bottom of his shirt and considers how exactly he's going to get Cisco clean. Decides it doesn't matter when Cisco mouths a lazy kiss over his throat. They're just going to get messy again anyway.

He waits until Cisco's breathing evens before untying the blindfold. He keeps his movements slow, trying to give Cisco time to come back to himself the same way they do during training. It would be a lie to pretend part of the waiting isn't for himself. Now, without the adrenaline high protecting him from any pain, he worries they moved too fast. He pushed too hard.

But when he unveils Cisco to the world again, Cisco is blissed out and pearl shining and sated. His lashes are blood black. The smile on his face is easy.

Every doubt Harry had fades. He brushes their lips together and Cisco responds.

“Hey,” Cisco says when Harry noses along his jaw.

“Hey,” he greets back.

Cisco eases back to breathing against his chest. Harry runs his palms along Cisco's back. It feels right. Better than fate. Something he and Cisco fought for.

“So.” Cisco's fingers walk along his ribs, soft and teasing. “Before we start the whole Skywalker training thing. You should probably know… I kind of have a thing for blindfolds.”

Harry laughs, exhaustion wringing through him.

“I'm serious,” Cisco says. He's laughing too. “It's a big kink. And I probably won't be able to focus on training.”

Harry cards his fingers through Cisco's hair. “Your concern has been noted. Maybe we'll try another training aid.”

“That sounds smart. What are you thinking? Handcuffs?”

Harry pinches at his belly. Frustration shame rolls beneath the ease of their stupid banter. Harry denied them this for so long.

The raw of it starts to swirl guilt through him. He tries to focus on Cisco, fucked happy and full in his arms. It's easier when Cisco pulls up to face him.

“Hey.” Cisco cups his jaw, thumbs sweeping over his skin. “Kiss me again.”

Harry tilts into Cisco's mouth. Anything that isn't this, isn't them, buzzes background. Their mouths brush, soft, until Harry's lips tingle numb from contact. He keeps his eyes open the entire time.

**Author's Note:**

> taken directly from terrie's idea of harry blindfolding cisco for training, not realizing cisco has a blindfold kink. thank you for sending me that ask <333 thanks as always to darknessandterrorandkittens for holding my hand and assuring me there's no such thing when it comes to too much melodrama with harry's pov <333 
> 
> this is what happens when u listen to too much lana del rey and try to write a pwp from harry's pov

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [how i pray [podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15846666) by [KD reads (KDHeart)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KDHeart/pseuds/KD%20reads)




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